


Train Stations and Sheer Nightgowns

by Saffiaan



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy, Voyná i mir | War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy, War and Peace (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, I don't know why with some minor adjustments it could easily be canon era yet here we are, I swear I like these two together, I'm at it again with my seethrough NSFW, In a way, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 01:15:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17376764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saffiaan/pseuds/Saffiaan
Summary: Fedya comes back from the army to his girlfriend and should maybe revaluate some life choices.





	Train Stations and Sheer Nightgowns

**Author's Note:**

> Look I swear I like these two together... but instead I wrote this... Enjoy I guess

 

The sound of the train and the steady rhythm of it had apparently been enough to put most of the other people in Fedya’s compartment to sleep. Which was understandable, as the journey was long, they had left late and coming home was seldom a quiet affair. The only other person awake was Vaska Denisov. That wasn’t a problem though, as the soldier had never had a problem with most things Fedya did near him. Which included the fact that Fedya was currently smoking and was slowly making his way through a flask of vodka. And if Vaska would complain, he was probably easy to shut up with some vodka. 

Besides smoking and drinking, Fedya kept himself awake by reading a book. It had become clear rather quickly that _The Old Curiosity Shop_ would never become his favourite book, but he had nothing else with him. Besides, he preferred to finish books once he had started them. That did mean his mind took every paragraph break as an opportunity to wander. To his mother, his sister, his girlfriend.

He vaguely wondered where Hélène was right now. Not in her apartment, he was sure. Maybe still at the club, though it seemed a bit late for that. Or perhaps early, depending on one’s perspective. So probably in someone else’s apartment. In someone else’s arms. Or maybe on her way home already.

They had never discussed whether their relationship was an open one or not. But Fedya had no illusions that Hélène was faithful. Which was fair, as he wasn’t either. It was fine. Or at least he could convince himself of that.

It was what he convinced himself of as he walked through Petersburg’s train station. Alone. Because of course he was. It was ridiculous he had hoped for even a second Hélène might be there. Ridiculous to think she may want to see or even call him after spending months apart. No, he’d show the initiative and end up at her place and they’d fuck and everything would be fine. No words spoken about anything that mattered. That’s what they did. It’s what they kept doing, because that’s what she had made out of him. A fucking addict. Addicted to her. And, like any addict, he didn’t care that this really wasn’t good for him in the end. He didn’t care that his family didn’t like her at all. He didn’t care they didn’t love each other.

None of that mattered because he had her, as far as anyone could ever truly have Hélène Kuragina. It wasn’t all that bad though. They were finetuned to each other in a way Fedya never had been with anyone. He never had to explain anything to her, because she just understood. Which was probably also why she never asked questions he didn’t want to give her an answer too. Or maybe that was just because she didn’t care. He knew she did though. Not like most people cared, not even like Fedya cared, but she cared. It was good enough for him.

All of it was good enough as long as he could feel alright for an hour or so. Even if he just felt worse right after. But he could pretend. He knew that if he pretended enough, it would become the truth. The mask would become his face and he would still be this addict but now in secret. It had worked so far anyway.

Three hours later, he was letting himself into Hélène’s apartment like he had predicted he would. “Lena?” Maybe he should have called before coming over, but he couldn’t be bothered. It wasn’t like either of them really cared about privacy anyway, so there was very little he could walk into that would bother anyone. Well, maybe if Hélene had lured someone in her bed again, that person could take offense. But Fedya really didn’t care about this potential third person. And she usually made it so that she was at someone else’s place anyway.

“I’m in the bedroom!” Hélène’s voice sounded. It really wasn’t surprising she was still in bed, for multiple reasons, but mainly most of all that she undoubtedly stayed up the night prior.

Fedya made his way to the room, where he indeed found his girlfriend. She was still laying in bed, though she looked too awake to have waken up recently. The covers only covered her up until her waist and the sheer nightgown she was wearing wasn’t doing much to cover up the rest. Not that Fedya minded. It was a shame, really, to cover up someone as beautiful as Hélène.

“I thought you were supposed to have come back hours ago,” Hélène said as she sat up, pushing the covers away completely before swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. “Did the train have a delay?”

“That and I went to visit my family first,” Fedya answered. Honestly, the delay hadn’t been more than 15 minutes. Hélène didn’t say anything, but she didn’t have to. The look on her face was saying enough. Though she never voiced it, it was clear she disliked Fedya’s family as much as they disliked her. Probably even more so. And she definitely didn’t like the amount of time he spent with them. It didn’t matter that he already spent far less time with his mother and sister than he would have liked or used to. No shortening would probably be enough but cutting them out enitrely. But there were some things Fedya wasn’t quite willing to do for his girlfriend and she seemed very aware. That was her speciality. Knowing which boundaries to push to get what she wanted and when to stop. She’d get the most out of every situation anyway.

“Well, I missed you,” she said, though they both knew it wasn’t true. They didn’t miss each other. If they did, they would probably attempt to stay in touch more. That, of course, wouldn’t stop them from playing their game.

“Did you?” Fedya asked, leaning with his hip against the metal footboard and crossing his arms in front of his chest. He barely noticed the light smirk that slid on his lips.

“Are you doubting me, Dolokhov?” Hélène cocked her head a little, on her lips a smirk of her own, though hers was much more graceful. After all, everything she did was with a certain grace and dignity. It was intoxicating, in a way.

“I am.” He leaned forward a bit, not nearly as close as he wanted yet, but closer. Taunting, almost, but Hélène knew her effect too well for anything to be taunting in scenarios such as these. “Considering the fact that I won in a bet against your brother about how many people you’d end up kissing that night. Seven, I believe.”

“So now you’re betting over me? Scoundrel.”

“You like it though.” Hélène’s smirk grew a little, as if she admitted that at least he was right in that aspect. She said nothing of the sort of course. Instead she reached forward to grab the chain on which his dog tags hung and pulled him towards her on it.

Their lips clashed together, kissing as if in need for air. Rough and bruising. His hands settled on her waist and hers curled around his shoulders. When they pulled apart to catch their breath, it immediately felt as if all air was being sucked out of him so he moved his lips to her neck instead, desperate for the taste of her skin, getting high on the scent of her perfume and the feeling of her curls as he fisted his hand in them, the sound of her breathing near his ear seemed more real and more encompassing than anything had ever seemed before. He was drunk on her and he didn’t want anything else.

Afterwards, they were both in the bed, only half covered by the blankets. He lay with his head on her breasts, lazily stroking her side. One of her hands was running through his hair. Neither of them had had a decent night’s sleep, so it was really just a question of when they would fall asleep and not when.

The only thing still on Fedya’s mind was that he didn’t know anymore what he had been so bitter about before. He and Hélène liked each other, matching each other both in wit and in the bed. Neither of them had any misconceptions about their relationship, which definitely wasn’t grounded in love. Sure, she didn’t make him happy necessarily, but Fedya supposed he wasn’t going to get better than this and he was honestly quite content as he was.

Soon enough, he felt the sleep tugging at him and he felt no reason to resist it. So he gave in to the darkness and Hélène’s touch.


End file.
